Chapter 4

The Hyperion broadcast sounded for what must have been the twelfth time, and like the last dozen times Rhys sat in front of the radio and stared blankly, as if the next transmission would say something different. But he knew better, and ever since his knees had given out on him all he could do was sit in the sand and stare at that stupid little radio.

Well, at least he wasn't doing any better than Jack. While he kept his aimless attention on the receiver, the newly appointed ex-CEO glared intently at Helios, head raised aloft, his body stiff and his hands planted on his hips. He'd held that pose since the second announcement of their deaths, almost resembling one of his many gigantic statues throughout Hyperion. The man was either extremely pissed or extremely absorbed in his contemplation. Knowing Jack, it was most likely a perfect combination of the two.

If looks could kill, and with Jack's they often did, then Helios would be a smoldering heap of exploded metal in the sky.

Rhys followed Jack's hard stare to gaze up at the massive space station, watching with significantly less fury than the other man and instead more forlornly. The colossal yellow glowing eye between the towers almost seemed to stare back resembling an intense unblinking leer, as if to say to the world no, dumbasses, they are right there. And they look like shit.

Strange how the fabricated voice for Helios sounded an awful lot like Jacks.

"Hey, dumdum."

With a jolt the adviser whirled his head back to look up. In the time frame he'd been gawking at the orbiting corporation above Jack had managed to tower over him, forgetting to remove the twisted scowl from his face that made Rhys inch back in caution. "J-Jack?" Oh no, was he about to get beaten to quell the man's boiling rage? Well, it technically may have stated somewhere in the contract of his job description that he was to be a human punching bag to Jack's inept temper when the moment called for it, and even though he'd never exercised it, there was a first for everything.

When he heard the pops of Jack's knuckles from his clenching fists, Rhys closed his eyes with a wince and readied for a smack, a punch, a kick, strangulation, whatever the older man would dish out on him. When nothing happened he chanced a glimpse on what he expected would be a raised fist coming at him, but what he got instead was a raised eyebrow.

"What are you doing?"

Rhys blinked repeatedly at the question. "I...uh, I thought...you were gonna...hit me?"

Jack tilted his head, giving him a quizzical look. "Hit you? Why would I...what, you want me to?"

"No! It's just," in a moment of insecurity his metal arm lifted to rub the back of his neck. How was he going to put this in the most levelheaded way without setting the man off? "Well, you did just find out you're dead and the corporation you've ruled for years are already searching for your replacement–Ouch!" Rhys quickly grabbed the back of his head and rubbed sorely where Jack smacked him.

"Thanks for the reminder, really. You're Advising skills are flawless."

Okay, maybe he deserved that one. Better than being beaten by far. And as Jack turned his attention on the objects scattered about the camp, it became apparent that something was very off about his demeanor; he was taking this whole pronounced-dead-and-being-replaced thing waaaay too calmly. Actually, watching him search around the camp nudging objects with his foot curiously as if he had nothing better to do was more terrifying than his rage shooting everything in sight and screaming threats at anything with a pulse. At least that was normal. This indifferent collected Jack was not normal.

"Oh-ho? What do we have here?" Jack crouched to a makeshift pallet of worn blankets near the fire, digging out a bottle containing a brown substance. He stood and held the bottle up to further inspect it, popped the cork off the top and held the rim under his nose, and immediately ripped it away with a snort. "Damn," he chuckled, "these scum suckers were drinking some strong stuff." To Rhys' dismay Jack tipped the bottle back to take what started as a sip, which then turned to one gulp after another.

"Uh...hey you–?" He was hushed by a long index finger raised at him to hold that thought,and with an agitated pout Rhys waited until the older man was done chugging his fill before leaning his head back with a rough satisfied sigh. "Ah, I needed that," he laughed, corked the bottle, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket with a few pats. "Papa's gonna enjoy you later, sweet thing."

'Oh for the love of….'

"Hey, check this out, pumpkin. I found something for ya."

Something was thrown his way, sliding through the sand to stop just short of Rhys' knees. He eyed the object curiously before reaching his cybernetic hand out to grasp it. He couldn't feel the texture, but he was certain it was an expensive type of black leather, from an animal he wasn't quite sure of, wrapped and sewn around a long sheath. The hilt of the object wrapped in unique patterns with the same type of leather only thinner. Definitely aged from prior use, but still in pretty good condition. He smoothed the palm of his flesh hand over the rough texture of the leather and the stitches.

"Whaddya think, kiddo? I'll let you hold onto it if you promise not to chop your own freakin head off."

Ignoring the other man's diatribe, Rhys stared at his new weapon unable to stop himself from smiling. He had to admit he was never one for guns – a trigger happy boss will do that to you, not to mention he never got use to the recoils – but he never got the opportunity to try his hand at a sword. Other than the decorative antique set he kept mounted on his wall in his bedroom, for the record it was completely normal and not nerdy for a grown man to have decorative antique swords, he was always too busy climbing the corporate ladder and figuratively slipping on the blood of backstabbed coworkers to make his way to the top to focus on swordsmanship, or any kind of physical combat for that matter.

"This..." Rhys sucked in a gasp when he released the sword from its sheath, watching the glimmering metal slide out of it's durance, stretching his arm out to accommodate the space it needed to fully unveil itself. It was sharp, it was long, it was powerful, it was…

"So...freaking...awesome!"Rhys didn't even care that his voice cracked like a puberty stricken teenager, didn't care that right now he was stranded out in the middle of nowhere with his sadistic boss, could give two shits about his growing dehydration. He had the coolest sword right now. He turned to Jack with a wild grin and realized the man had been watching him the entire time, meeting his ecstatic expression with a surprised look of his own, as if the man had seen something in Rhys he'd never seen before. That made two of them, because Rhys couldn't say he'd ever been given that kind of look before, but what the hell, he had just been given a badass weapon. Nothing could ruin this for him.

As if caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Jack cleared his throat and leaned on one hip, tearing his eyes away to look at seemingly anything but his young adviser with a haughty snort.

"Take a cold shower, wouldya? It's just a crappy little butter knife."

Still grinning Rhys sheathed the sword, held it firmly in his flesh hand, and put his metal hand on his knee to lift himself up, instantly regretting the action when a blunt ache crawled up the right side of his back forcing him to a crunched sitting position, hand dropping the sword next to him to instinctively clutch his side. He bit back the hiss that threatened to slip between his lips. Okay, whatever that was, it really hurt.

Consumed in the sudden shock of pain Rhys failed to notice the narrowing of a sideways glance, watching his slip-up silently.

Rhys recovered quickly when Jack began walking up to him, playing off the abrupt pain like he was posing for some invisible camera, his winced smile giving away his discomfort. Whether Jack acknowledged it or not he said nothing about it, striding almost past him before stopping short to clench a massive hand around his forearm and lift him to his feet weightlessly.

"C'mon, we can't keep dickin around here. Grab what you think is useful and let's head back to the cave. Time's a wasting."

The comment had Rhys whirl his head in Jack's direction, careful not to bump into the other man because all of a sudden they were so very close, almost chest to chest and Jack's iron grip still latched around his forearm. It also didn't help that they were basically the same height, the infinitesimal inch difference that Rhys had over him was never dared to be mentioned aloud.

"Uh, that's fine, but...why do we have to hurry?"

His answer was an immediate flipped switch. Jack's chest rumbled with a deep chuckle that most certainly did not sound like the comical one from before. This laugh sounded like he had just set fire to an entire town and watched it burn from the top of a hill.

"So cute when you're playing dumb. Isn't it obvious? We're going to Helios, kitten." And before Rhys could retort the obvious back to him, that it would take a lot more time than what was expected, that they basically had to start from scratch to get home, Jack leaned in dangerously close until their noses practically touched. Rhys felt his skin prickle at the phantom electricity in the air, or was that Jack's aura? He couldn't make sense of anything anymore, not when the man was so damn close to him, a sinister smile tugging at the corner of his lips and eyes burning with so much bloodlust it turned him pale at the sight.

With one strong hand on his arm another gripped his chin, holding his head steady as a rough thumb played at his bottom lip, a hot breath danced on his now reddened cheeks that spread to his ears.

"Because when I'm done ravaging this filthy excuse of a planet..." Jack's voice was low and rough, "...I'm going to rip through that space station so fast those bastard's heads will fucking spin...on spikes...that will decorate the Hub of Heroism as a friendly little reminder of why you shouldn't mess with Handsome goddamn Jack and what's his." In emphasis the hand on his arm and the one on his chin squeezed, erupting a silent gasp of air from Rhys' lungs.

All at once the touch had vanished, the skin burning where Jack had touched him. He stood there, numbly, and watched Jack's retreating back. He paused once next to the fire to rip the roasting meat shishkobab from above the flames, taking a bite out of a section of the meat as if it wasn't hot as hell and previously roasting in red hot flames.

Continuing his pace, Jack raised a finger at Rhys without turning around, wagging the finger in a back and forth motion.

"Tick Tock, Rhysie."

A sudden thought popped into Rhys' head. And just once, vowing to never say it aloud, that he could agree with the dead bandit's last words which played in his mind like a broken record.

Hours later, when the sun had managed to dip past the top of the distant mountains taking with it the daytime sounds of Pandoran wildlife in exchange for the croaks and chirps of the evening, Rhys huddled as close as he could to the crackling fire seeking the warmth without getting caught on fire. A shiver racked his frame from his hips to his shoulders, the knots in the muscles in his back screaming at him.

He wasn't quite sure what hurt his back more; the chill in the air or the repercussions of his mispronounced death weighing on his shoulders.

There were a lot of people depending on him.

The assurance he always gave Vaughn to wipe the concerned frown from his face, telling him everything would be okay and he most certainly would not be assassinated, poisoned, shot into space by Jack, or blown into pieces. He could just see the look on his best friend's face now, bitterness of an I told you so, asshole contorted with devastation.

Fiona and Sasha would probably have a similar reaction –well, more I told you so and less devastated, and one would probably have lost a bet to the other. But this was the last of Rhys' concerns with the two ex-con artists. Wherever they were in this world; Fiona the rookie Vault Hunter in whatever galaxy she's currently venturing through, and Sasha gallivanting God-knows-where with August by her side, would definitely find out about this, would shake their heads and mock the promise he made them.

If only Rhys could tell them at this very moment that he was not someone to break promises, that he was very much alive, and the deal they struck had actually been in motion for three months. Three months of so much overtime he never thought the bloodshot would leave his eyes or the bags under them would ever go away. Investing millions soon-to-be billions of dollars directly from his personal bank accounts, thank God for free lunches or he'd have starved to death by now, to ensure this operation was well funded and the accountants would not notice large quantities of money leaving corporate accounts for some highly classified file layered in access codes and security walls and not bothering to bring this to Jack's attention.

Oh yeah, that tiny little detail he had forgotten to mention. Jack didn't know anything about his little side project. Neither did Vaughn for that matter, but he wasn't worried about Vaughn horrifically dismembering him like Jack surely would if ever finding out about it. So far he could say he was proud of himself that he could hide this one operation from Jack's radar.

Rhys then pulled his intent stare at the flames to steal a glance above the fire to the devil himself. Body stretched out with one ankle hooked over the other, shoulders resting against the wall of the cave, two hands loosely clutching the tipping bottle of alcohol to his chest, Jack had remained in that position for the past hour or so, eyes closed and head tilted back against the wall. He knew the man wasn't sleeping, that much was obvious, and he wasn't drunk either. He was just...sitting there, silently.

A tinge of guilt overcame Rhys at the thought of keeping a secret from the man. He had planned to tell him eventually of his private investments and operations...he just preferred a lot later than sooner, that maybe Jack would see it for what it is and actually come to understand his intentions….

"Stop staring at me, cupcake."

Rhys blinked furiously at the words intruding his thoughts, coming to the embarrassing realization that he had indeed been staring at Jack the entire time he was consumed on the topics in his head. What was worse was Jack hadn't even opened his eyes, it was that obvious.

"I-I wasn't staring at you." Rhys stuttered weakly, the blush staining his cheeks thankfully going unnoticed.

Jack snorted. "Yeah, sure you weren't. S'all right, can't blame you for sneakin a peak." He flashed a lazy grin.

"..." Rhys rolled his eyes, saying nothing.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, kitten."

"Wha? How'd you even…?"

This time Jack cracked his blue eye open at Rhys, his grin only growing wider. "News flash, kiddo, I lived in your head for a while. Your reactions are so predictable."

The younger man kept quiet, letting the frustrated pout say it all and hopefully not the blush. They stayed quiet for a moment, letting the sounds of the crackling flames fill the cave. When Jack spoke again his tone had taken on a more inquisitive edge. "So, whatcha thinking about? Well, besides me of course."

Technically he was thinking about the older man. 'About how I'm keeping a huge secret from you, and that you'll mutilate me if you ever found out about it.'Rhys shrugged and instead indulged the question with another honest answer.

"Just...thinking about my friends…." When he got no reply he looked back up to the other man and noticed both eyes were closed and he remained still. And then the notion came over him; that was one way to kill a conversation. How does one talk about friends to someone who has none?

One thought struck another. Jack had no living relatives as far as Rhys knew, no one of mention that he ever spoke fondly about. Was...was Rhys the closest thing to a friend that Jack had? Well, he wouldn't go as far as assuming Jack considered him a friend. Personal Adviser, punching bag, ex-meat prison, but friend? He never thought about that before.

"Typical Rhys," the rumbling chuckle drowned out the fire's melody and brought Rhys' attention back to man on the other side of it. His brows knit in confusion.

Jack continued, this time suspiciously slurred. "Always thinking about everyone else but never yourself. S'what probably makes you so friggin ditzy."

Was that supposed to be a jab at him? He wasn't quite sure how to take that comment, but he felt a tinge of irritation prod at his nerves.

Jack titled the bottle to his lips, adding in smugly before taking a sip, "You remind me of me when I was your age, putting everyone first. You'll learn what that does to you soon enough when they stick a dagger in your back."

Rhys could feel his hands tense at his sides, his eyes narrowing when Jack's words were becoming patronizing. He could deal with the insults to his person, the name calling, the constant verbal harassment, but when it came to the loyalty of his friends….

Before he could stop himself, he let out a quiet growl in retort. "I'd rather they stab me instead of themselves to get away from me." Oh. Balls. Rhys immediately regretted saying something so stupid. Jack suddenly stopped sipping from the bottle, holding it to his now vicious snarl, both green and blue eyes suddenly open and staring in angry disbelief.

"The hell you just say?"

Okay, time to get the fuck out. Rhys lifted himself up, ignoring the eyes following him and the sudden burning ache of his back with his movements, and turned to leave the cave. "I'm gonna get more firewood." He threw back hastily, a shake in his tone he hoped went unnoticed.

"Get back here, you little shit!"

How Jack had closed the distance between them so fast was unreal, and he felt a heavy force wrap around his cybernetic arm and flip him around so fast it almost gave him whiplash. He was expecting to be thrown right into a fist, or the next hand to grab him would be around his throat. What he wasn't expecting, however, was the pain in his back to erupt full force at that moment, pulling a harsh cry from Rhys' throat and taking his legs out from under him. The grip on his robotic arm released and the young brunette collapsed in a shaky heap on the dirt floor, arms wrapping around his torso. Tears sprung from the corner of his eyes, teeth clenching until his jaw trembled.

"H-Hey!" Jack called out to him, more surprised than angry now. "C'mon kid, I barely friggin touched you!"

Vision blurry with pain and tears Rhys looked up at Jack towering above him, hands up like he wasn't a part of it, the prior snarl now a confused frown.

"N..No...it's…." God, it even hurt to talk, to breath, "...my back." He felt Jack crouch down next to him, hands suddenly on his shoulders pulling him up into a sitting position were...strangely gentle.

But the pain continued, and Rhys gasped, "S-Stop, Jack..." but the other man ignored him, steadying his sway with a firm hand on his shoulder, he used the other to untie the knot of his suit sleeves from around his waist. Once undone Jack made for the buttons of his undershirt and began to pluck each undone with a simple flick of his index finger and thumb in a swift skill that made the younger man sputter in shock.

Woah, hold on a sec. Was this all a part of a pain induced hallucination...or was Jack undressing him?

Rough, warm fingers burned the soft flesh of his sternum and he gasped. Okay, this was real, really real, the realist moment of his life.

"J-Jack," he gasped, but not from pain, "w-what are you…?"

"Taking advantage of you." Jack deadpanned, raising an eyebrow when he noticed the obvious reddening of Rhys' face, neck, and ears at the comment. "Jeez, what's it look like I'm doing? Now shut up and hold still." His eyes went back to undressing his young adviser, leaving Rhys to stare at him as if he'd lost his damn mind. Wasn't he about to literally maim him only a few minutes ago?

Knuckles brushed his stomach, and Rhys couldn't stop his body from shuddering. He seriously hoped Jack didn't notice that.

All of a sudden the shirt was being peeled off his shoulders, soft yanks pulled it down his arms to let it fall to the ground behind him. A large palm flattened on each side of his ribcage, and Rhys nearly jolted out of his skin. Jack pressed in slightly to keep him still. "Easy kiddo, I'm just checkin for...holy mother of bawls, Rhys…."

"What!?" Rhys panicked when Jack's brows shot up in alarm, eyes wide and locked onto something on Rhys' side. "What is it, is it bad?" He began to squirm, inclining his head and lifting his arm to get a better view.

Holy mother of bawls was right. The first thing he saw was an outer rim of angry red swollen skin, blending into an array of deep purple, almost blue-black flesh in a full circle down the right side of his back. He watched as Jack's fingers ghosted over the discoloration.

"The pain's coming from your ribs, kitten. A couple of them are busted up pretty good."

Rhys winced, but remained still as Jack's fingers probed the bruising. "I guess...it must have been from the fall. It just kinda crept up on me the longer we've been wandering around the desert." Jack retreated his grip on Rhys, who brushed his own fingers on the bruise careful not to apply too much pressure on it. A ripping sound tore his attention away to see Jack shredding his suit jacket with bare hands.

"Jack...why are you–?"

"Shut up, kitten. You're distracting me." And this time Rhys didn't argue. He stayed silent and watched as the older man finished tearing the jacket into long pieces of cloth. Gathering the cloth pieces he grabbed one and looped it tightly around Rhys' back and chest, starting another where the last strand ended.

If they ever survived Pandora, no one would ever believe this story. That the feared, murderous, malicious Dictator of this planet and CEO of Hyperion would be bandaging his wounded Adviser in some nowhere cave. Even Vaughn would guffaw and label it as one of Rhys' fanboy fantasies.

For now he remained quiet, tired from the pain, awestruck from the look on Jack's face as he continued to wrap the strips of cloth around his chest. It was kind of...well, nice. Weird, but having Jack's full attention on him, hands on his chest, gliding over his bare skin, eyebrows knit in deep concentrated on Rhys' naked torso. Definitely a new experience, more intimacy than Jack had shown him before. Maybe...maybe he was wrong about Jack considering him something close to a friend?

Rhys mumbled something under his breath causing Jack to glance up from his work. "What did you say, kiddo?"

"I said..." he rubbed the back of his neck, the act becoming instinctual every time he was embarrassed or uneasy, and gave Jack a quick sideways smile, "...thanks, Jack. For...ya know…."

"Don't get soft, or I'll punch you square in the ribs. I'm doing this only cause I can't have you dragging your ass and slowing us down."

Right. Well, Jack would never admit it, but the smirk on the man's face was a good enough hint to Rhys.

Suddenly the wrapping stopped.

"Take a deep breath. This might hurt."

"Hm? What do you–Oh my God!" Jack must have tied a knot or something in the bandage, securing the makeshift bandages to his ribs. And it hurt like an absolute bitch, so much so he subconsciously arched his body away from the pain sending all his weight into Jack, hands coming up to grasp the man's shoulders tightly.

Bigger hands grabbed Rhys' waist for balance, but it was too late as Jack lost his footing and fell backwards with a grunt onto the hard ground taking the thinner man with him.

It wasn't before the pain subsided long enough for Rhys to realize what the hell just happened, but the moment he realized his face was smashed into the strong chest below him he immediately planted his hands on the ground and lifted his head up, and if it wasn't for the hands anchored on his waist keeping him in place he would have thrown himself completely off the man below him, because if someone were to walk by the entrance of this very cave at this precise moment, they'd see one half naked Rhys sprawled on top of and straddling one Handsome Jack.

He looked down expecting a snarl or a scowl at having knocked Jack onto his back. The last thing he ever expected was to see a wide toothy grin and eyes twinkling with pure mischief.

"Now this is the kinda thanks I'm talking about, kitten." He waggled his eyebrows, and Rhys swore his face was going to catch fire.